Defining Moments, The Final Cut

So, here they are. The moments that have defined who I am are:

Oh, Is that why you….?
I will count two traumatic events as one, as I never think of one without the other. Being forced to eat out of the garbage, and having my nose rubbed in my urine both had the same meaning. In both cases I was reacting to physiological stimuli in what most people would consider a “normal” manner (throwing away food when full, saying ouch when hurt). In both instances my mother proved there was no action she would not take to control my every move. I was not to think or feel without consulting her first. I also learned that she only did these things because she loved me and just didn’t understand why I would do what I did - because she became so nice to me after I threw up/started bleeding.
2. Before and after: It is impossible to know exactly what I was before these moments. I knew I was powerless against my mother, and I was afraid of her. I suppose after that powerlessness was intensified by the knowledge that she would do anything to make sure I never had any power. I learned that I was too stupid to make my own decisions. I learned fighting her in any way was futile and wrong. My job was to comply with her every demand, and if I didn‘t, I deserved to be punished in any way she saw fit.
3. As a result of this moment I stopped making decisions for myself, I stopped thinking for myself, and I stopped feeling for myself. I was too afraid to move without someone telling me how. Fear still grips my life and effects too many of my decisions.
4. This defining moment distorted my authentic self. Being so paralyzed by fear to even think for myself goes completely against any authenticity a person has a right to. So much of my life has been wasted by this fear. This fear has been so great that I really never knew I even had an authentic self until I was well into my 30s.
5. I do believe my interpretation of this event is accurate. There is no way I deserved to be treated the way she treated me. It wasn’t the first or last time she took control away from me. I don’t know when it started, and she would like for it to never end.
6. As far as keeping or rejecting this in regard to my concept of self, nothing would make me happier than to reject it. I would give almost anything to lose this fear. Obviously, I want to uncover the authentic self that this incident along with others, have hidden.

“Kiss her!”
Being accosted on the playground by older boys, along with being molested by my grandfather, led to my believing my female body gave me worth. It definitely had a huge effect on how I would perceive myself in relation to the opposite sex. It effected how I saw my own sexuality and what purpose it was meant to serve. I still have confused feelings about my sexuality.
2. Before and after: I was just a little girl with no real value. I hated being held down so that a disgusting boy could kiss me. But because of this incident, along with being molested by my grandfather, I learned that my body had value. My sexuality was important to other people.
3. As a result of this moment I have had a very confused idea about what sexuality is for. It is almost impossible for me to guess when a guy likes me or my sexuality. And I definitely see me and my sexuality as separate entities, sex being the more powerful.
4. This defining moment distorted my authentic self. I think if I were authentic, I would know how to integrate my sexuality into the rest of me. I would not use it to try to feel valid.
6. As far as keeping or rejecting this in regard to my concept of self, obviously, I need to reject it. I think until I do I will never feel like I am truly connected to any other person. I know I have value outside of my sexuality, in my head I know that. In my heart I doubt it.

Ruthanne
Ruthanne will always deserve a special place in my heart. I didn’t know why she hated me, or why Shari liked me. I really do think now that this is where I learned that I had no control over who liked me, or hated me. I was at the mercy of everyone in my life. I had absolutely no power, what so ever. And there is very little mercy in this life for me.
2. Before and after: Before Ruthanne came into my life, I knew I was not liked, but I felt there was some history to it, like at least they had a reason. But once Ruthanne blew through I never knew why I was disliked. I felt like a walking target for anyone wanted to bash me.
3. The long term residual effects of that defining moment are feelings of insecurity, powerlessness and complete valueless-ness. Ruthanne became the voice for all of the people who picked on me, and the people I didn’t know could easily be another Ruthanne. So I was afraid that I would never be liked, or valued.
4. This defining moment distorted my authentic self because I internalized it and let it be about my worth and not Ruthanne’s attitude. She was being a big bully that year. She didn’t even know me, how could she like or not like me? And her opinion of me should never have been my opinion of me. I decided I had no value and was not likeable. Not everyone is Ruthanne, some people do like me, and they think I have value.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? At the time I thought it was about me. As an adult I can look at the situation and know that Ruthanne was having a really bad year and saw me as the most convenient person to take it out on. Her hatred toward me was not about me. She had no reason to hate me, and I shouldn’t have taken it so personally.
6. I should definitely reject this with regard to my self concept because it is not an accurate statement of who I am. I should not base my self worth on what anyone else thinks of me. I should live the best life I can, be who I really am, and be proud of all that I have accomplished. Ruthannes will always be there, but I have to stop letting them affect what I think of myself.

Kidnapped
Lyle finally made his move. In a desperate attempt to protect Kim, he kidnapped us to Arco. I was starting to feel safe, then all of a sudden they pull the rug out from under me. Even though he professed to trying to make me safe, he was hurting me deeply, and making me feel, once again, powerless to have any control over my life.
2. Before and after: Before this happened there was just a handful of people I believed would never do anything to hurt me. After, he had hurt me, just as badly as my mother had. It was like getting the rug pulled out from under me.
3. The long term residual effects included the inability to really trust anyone anymore. It is very hard for me to have any trust in anyone now. I don’t believe anyone ever sees my interests first for any reason.
4. This defining moment distorted and clarified my authentic self. It is quite true that there are very few people out there who are genuinely more concerned with my interests than their own. As a matter of fact, I can only think of a couple of people who did. I don’t think anyone can really be completely counted on, but I may take it too far at times.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? I do know that Lyle really did have our best interest at heart, but he chose to do the one thing that would hurt the most. Instead of teaching us to have that personal power so that we would have better tools to live by, he took that power away from us, and I only came away from it more hurt.
6. I should accept/reject this with regard to my self concept because; This one is hard because I don’t really know. I think it helps to keep me safe to not trust people, but it also keeps me isolated. I would like to trust unconditionally, but even I continue to let me down time and again.

Being invisible was safe.
Jr. High school was a totally new experience. I had spent so many years being ostracized and tormented by my peers that I had come to know it as an integral part of my life. As I walked through the halls of that jr. high school, however, I found a solace - a welcomed reprieve. I was no longer the most despised among the mass. I was completely invisible. I walked through the halls, unnoticed, untouched, unseen. It was a wonderful experience. I was at peace. I was happy. I even made a couple of friends.
2. Before and after: Before I was always afraid that I would be accosted either verbally or physically by my peers. After, I felt safe from them. When they didn’t see me, they didn’t hurt me.
3. The long term residual effects include packing on weight, losing it and become scared of other people's reactions to me, then putting it back on. I tend not to take the lead unless I am certain I am safe from ridicule. I am scared so much of the time of being disliked, that I seriously lack the courage to be me.
4. This defining moment distorted my authentic self because it reinforced the notion that I had no value. I wasn’t even valued enough to be picked on anymore. I learned it was easier to hide than to face the world. Even now I tend to hide when I feel I have less than an acceptable foot to put forward.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? Sure, I was safe, but I wasn’t alive, and I wasn’t me. I was going along to get along, which is how the authentic self is slowly destroyed.
6. I should reject this with regard to my self concept because I not only have a right to my authentic self, I have an obligation to be my authentic self. We are all here for our own very special reasons. I am denying the universe the pleasure of me when I hide me in fear.

How does 15 year old jailbait compete with a 32 year old easy lay?
Damian was my first serious crush, but she just had to have him. To get me out of the way she threatened to legally take care of any relationship I might have with him. It would have been a completely valid argument if she meant to protect me, but she didn’t. Damian was the first, but not the last guy she felt compelled to compete with me for. The world is full of guys who are looking to have sex with young girls who are willing. Usually, those same guys love the idea of the mother/daughter conquest. And I was ripe for spinning out of control.
2. Before and after: Before I knew that my sex had power over men. After, I learned that I could use my sex to hurt women too. And I did use it to hurt other women, not just, but especially my mother.
3. The long term residual effects are my warped sense of how sex makes a relationship work. It is especially common for me to assume that I am simply being used just for sex by men, and equally common for me to compete for the sexual attraction of men who are liked by women I feel de-value me.
4. This defining moment distorted my authentic self - God I hope it’s distorted. People say that sex is a tool that brings intimacy to a relationship. I realize that to some extent that is true. But I still can’t help but see it as a very sharp sword.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? That’s a hard one. My mother was very sick, and competing with your daughter for the boys she wants is sick. I don’t think the lesson was valid because even though she hurt me, two wrongs don’t make a right. She wronged me, but so did I.
6. I should reject this with regard to my self concept because I know in my head that using sex for anything but bringing intimacy to a relationship is self destructive. I’m tired of destroying myself over and over.

Suicidal thoughts.
After being beaten with a broom by my mother, and seeing the shocked look of the people I worked for, I considered suicide. I chose to survive, however, and promised myself not to let anyone hit me again. It was the first time I ever really saw any end to the abuse. It was the first time the concept of having any control over my own life entered my mind.
2. Before and after: Before I really felt there was no hope, that I was stuck in that situation forever. After, I had hope. I think that may have been the first time I saw something in me that was really me; my hope.
3. The long term residual effects: I have thought of suicide often, but I know that I won’t do it as long as I can feel even the most trivial amount of hope. I gave myself purpose then, and I know I can do it again.
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self. Once I could see myself as being separate from what my mother told me to be, I knew I could maybe have a self. I don’t know if I have seen all of that authentic self, but I am looking, I know it is there somewhere.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? My interpretation of that moment and the events that preceded and followed it are accurate. Well, I did interpret the looks on the faces of the people at work incorrectly. They didn’t think I deserved it, quite the opposite. They just didn’t know what to do or say. But I did know for sure no one had the right to hurt me, that I didn’t deserve to be hit, and that mother would not have my blessing if she did it again.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it was the first time I actually felt like I could stand up for myself. It was the first time I knew I should count on myself. It was the first time I knew there was a self. In almost every way, it was the most profound moment of my life. My life.

Tappy: sent to make me see my mother in me.
One day I was moving from the couch to the bed. When I got there, I found that my 6 month old Doberman puppy had pooped on my bed. I lost it. I grabbed her and started to beat her while she lay on the floor beneath me. I had a sort of out of body experience at that moment. I was looking down on me beating that poor puppy, and I saw my mother. I was about to have a baby, and I was my mother. I stopped and got up off the dog who ran to another room. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew right then that I had to change. I couldn’t be my mother. I wouldn’t be my mother. I wouldn’t.
2. Before and after: Before I thought it would be easy not to treat my children the way my mother did, that it wouldn't be a problem at all. After, I saw my mother in my rage and knew I was wrong. I knew I would have to work hard at not being angry enough to be her.
3. The long term residual effects I have spent hours reading and borrowing strength from people I didn’t even know, but it was worth it, because I never have hurt another being they she hurt me.
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self by showing me that I had an awful rage inside me, and that I needed to control it.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? It was so accurate. Seeing myself like that was a huge eye opener. I was the abuser, but I knew deep inside I would learn to beat it.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it brought me to a place where I could get angry without losing control. Now instead of hitting, I cry. Which is better.

Flashbacks
Megan was four, just about the same age I was when my mother did those horrible things to me. I was living in my childhood home, and would walk around a corner and have flashbacks, full pain, smell, everything flashbacks. The scene would play out completely leaving me feeling as worthless and powerless as I felt then. But this time I had Megan, and I would sit and rock her until the little girl in me felt better. I kept telling her (the little girl in me) over and over that she didn’t do anything to deserve that, she was totally innocent and sweet, and only a monster would treat a beautiful child like her that way. And I would cry for hours.
2. Before and after: before having the flashbacks, I did feel guilt, like I had done something to deserve the abuse. After, I knew better. I was an innocent little girl who was being tortured by a psychotic mother.
3. The long term residual effects have been to put the blame where it belongs. It might take a little while, but I always hold accountable the persons who are mean to me. It’s hard to do, but I do know I am not to blame for other’s rages.
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self by taking the guilt of the innocent child inside me and giving it to the woman who hurt me. I learned that I wasn’t has horrible as I thought.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? My interpretation was accurate. It was a very healing thing to see a childhood abuser with the privilege of having adult eyes. As an adult it was so easy to see that I was without guilt.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it makes me stronger. I know when I am wrong and I am not afraid to apologize profusely for those wrongs. But this event shows me that I am not always the one who is wrong. Sometimes, someone else deserves to take accountability, and in order to find my authentic self, I need to remember that deep down I am always trying to do what is right.

Protecting my children from my mother, and My Life for a house - a great trade
My mother lied to me about how she disciplined Megan. When I found out about the lie at a family function, I was furious. Something was starting to happen inside me at that moment. Maybe I couldn’t protect myself from that monster, but I would protect my kids from her.
We went to see her at the ranch. I told her I couldn’t take anymore of her abuse, and that I certainly wasn‘t ok with her spanking Megan for any reason. I told her she could have her house back, but in return I wanted my life back - without her in it. As we drove home, I felt the most intense feeling of relief and freedom. I have never regretted making that decision, not even for a moment.
2. Before and after: Before I took my life back I was basically unable to stand up to my mother. I was still afraid of her and let her do most of my thinking. After, I did stand up to her. I still feel fear towards her, but now that she is not allowed to be in my life to continue the emotional and mental abuse. I stood up for my kids, now I know I have the tools to stand up for myself.
3. The long term residual effects: I am stronger. I still have a long way to go, but I know that I can advocate for myself and others when push comes to shove. I just need to feel the push before it becomes the shove!
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self. I actually came a step closer! Now that she isn’t around to beat me down, I can see the better parts of me.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? My interpretation was accurate. I need to take control for my kids and I did. Now I need to make that happen for me.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it is a step closer. My authentic self was dying day by day. Now I am getting stronger day by day. It doesn’t always feel that way, but I know it is true.

“A” student
I signed up for classes at the local college, and declared psychology as my major. A couple of weeks into classes, my psychology teacher asked us how many of us were there for intrinsic reasons. I raised my hand. He looked around the class and said, “only two of my A students?” I was shocked. No one had ever accused me of being an A student before. I really liked that label. I liked it so much that I vowed to make it true. And I did. It’s strange how one comment made for an entirely different reason can make such a huge difference in a persons self concept!
2. Before and after: Before I believed I was stupid, after all, everyone said so! After, I believed I was just as smart as most people, because I said so.
3. The long term residual effects: I have come to love learning, and I can objectively listen to what someone is saying and decide for myself if it makes sense or not. Unless they are telling me that something about me is inadequate, then I believe blindly!
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self by showing me that I am capable of having good rational thoughts.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? Absolutely! I was a straight A student for 2 semesters, and remained on the Deans list up till now. My college gpa is 3.87! Obviously, I have what it takes to be smart enough to think for myself.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it gives me the power and freedom to think for myself, which has to happen if I ever want to find my authentic self. It is very reassuring to know that I have as much intelligence and sometimes more, than the people who would like to make my life choices for me. This takes the power out of the hands of the people who want me to behave the way that makes their lives easier, whether it is in my best interest or not.

My first purpose outside my kids
Most of the students in the class seemed fun to me, but there was a boy there who was blind, didn’t talk, sat in his wheelchair all day and had seizures often. I was terrified of him. On day I stood in the classroom looking at this little boy, yes he was tiny, when I thought, "why are you scared of him?" So, I asked the aid who worked with him if I could take over. She was more than happy to let me. During the next nine months, this boy would teach me the real meaning of unconditional love and acceptance. It was then that I really started to see God for what He is, and not for what everyone said he was. It was magical, and every time I sit down with a person who is profoundly disabled, I feel that kind of unconditional love. For the first time I actually had hope that I would be ok.
2. Before and after: Before this job, I was lost spiritually. I firmly believed that God had to be as described in the bible, which was a little too much like my mother. After, I came to understand unconditional love and acceptance. There is not feeling in the world like knowing I have as much value and validity as anyone else here in existence. I know how to give that kind of unconditional love and acceptance, just not necessarily how to get it.
3. The long term residual effects: I have spent countless hours working on my own ability to accept and love other people. I can honestly say that I unconditionally love my mother, and that I accept her unconditionally. Understanding how it works makes any guilt others try to pile on me for not allowing her in the lives of my children or myself completely dissipate. Loving and accepting unconditionally means not needing to control, heal, or save anyone else. Nor does it mean letting everyone in to abuse me, as that would not be unconditionally accepting.
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self because I finally realized that I might really have an important authentic self. It was a part of me worth trying to discover. I am still trying to develop and solidify that concept towards myself. That is the way to being able to have the courage to be me.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? My interpretation is accurate. Everyday I am with such wonderful and unconditional beings it is reinforced. They are happy, they are trusting and they are content.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because it gives me a reason to keep living, no matter how bad things might get, I still feel I owe it to God and to me to give this life a real chance.

And here we are today
I met Dale. As I wrote in my blog, I wanted to believe this was “it”. I wanted to be in this relationship forever. I systematically pushed myself to the back and ignored that voice inside until I nearly exploded. He is an alcoholic and was completely unaccepting of me. He thought there were plenty of things wrong with me and apparently I didn‘t disagree with him. I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t thin enough, I was too emotional, and not nearly enough like Kendra. When he couldn’t accept my kids, I figured it was more him than me, maybe that’s why it didn’t kill me.
He’s an alcoholic. Just like so many other people in my life have been. I don’t really know how much of that to take personally. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m making the decision to take this book and actually do the work to find and fix what’s wrong.
2. Before and after: Before I thought I was just about there, I thought I was strong enough to be me no matter what. After, I realized that I still have a lot of work to do. Actually reading and doing the work in this book is just the beginning to doing this hard work. Before I can fix what’s wrong, I have to identify it. Before I can heal it, I have to own it.
3. The long term residual effects are yet to be seen.
4. This defining moment clarified my authentic self because I was able to see that I was still not completely healed or authentic.
5. Was my interpretation accurate? It likely is. I do believe I was loved, but only as well as an addict can love. I do believe I was loved, but only as much as a person can be loved who is afraid to be herself.
6. I should accept this with regard to my self concept because I want to heal. I want to know why I keep putting myself in situations where I completely abandon my authentic self. Even though I know no one else will ever be able to love and accept me if I don’t, I still refuse to stand strong for who I am. Maybe this is a catalyst for finding out who I am, once and for all.

7. Reviewing these defining moments as a whole, the bottom-line effect on my concept of self, having live through them is: I don’t have faith in myself or others. I believe people when they tell me I am stupid, fat, ugly, not valid and not valued. I even tell myself these things every time I fail to achieve even the most inconsequential of goals. I believe people when they don’t like me, I have internalized their remarks as truths about me. I have been too afraid to make the really hard decisions in life that would bring me to my authentic self. I have vowed not to let anyone hit me and get away with it, yet I have been hit since, and did nothing about it. I have vowed to never make decisions based on fear, yet I remain so paralyzed with fear that I have not been able to find my own purpose in life. I am too afraid to find myself, for fear I really won’t like me either. I lack the courage to claim power over my own life.

I have made gains, which is very good. It shows me I can go forward. It shows me I can improve and grow. It even offers encouragement that I should improve and grow. It tells me I am obliged to try.

And so life was full of pain and abuse. But that is over now. I lived through it then, and it cannot kill me now. And so life is what I choose to make it. I can make choices that will lead me to my authentic self. No, I can’t control the future, no one can. But I can definitely choose what the rest of my history will be.

Defining Moments 39-42

I managed to gain all that weight back during those years. I really didn’t know where I stood from one minute to the next. I was single again, and terrified of trying to find someone new. It was so much easier to eat myself happy. I reached a whopping 230 pounds before I realized what I was doing. I was used to going into public and not being noticed. But one day I walked into a busy store and was completely invisible. I honestly believe that no one could see me. No one looked at me, no one heard me, no one tried to help me. I was completely unnoticeable.


So, I watch Oprah a lot and realized (after watching a Dr. Phil episode) that I was fat not because I loved food, but because I felt so safe being invisible. I bought the book and read it to the point where I am right now. I managed to understand where the safety came from. Of course, when I went to junior high I was invisible. No one saw me and no one picked on me. I was safe and happy for the first time I could remember.

I started hiking that summer (2002) and by the end of the year I had lost 95 pounds. I looked great. But my friends at work, though they said they were happy and proud of me, turned on me. It was so heartbreaking.
I even signed up on match.com and started doing a lot of dating. But nothing lasted, and the guys were certainly not willing to tell me why. What was so wrong with me that they didn’t want to keep me?

I stuck with the running for few years and kept all the weight off. I even trained for and competed in a marathon. The marathon killed my sciatic nerve bundles and I wasn’t able to run so much. And for some reason that I have not figured out yet, I have gained back 30 pounds. Not enough to be considered fat, but certainly not enough to be noticed.

For the past couple of years I hadn’t dated. I held a torch for my son’s counselor for a while, but I finally came to the conclusion that either he wasn’t interested, or he didn’t have what I would need to be happy with him.
Because of a fellow blogger, I signed up on match.com. I immediately started getting responses, and within a couple of weeks, I met Dale. As I wrote in this blog, I wanted to believe this was “it”. I wanted to be in this relationship forever. I systematically pushed myself to the back and ignored that voice inside until I nearly exploded. He is an alcoholic and was completely unaccepting of me. He thought there were plenty of things wrong with me and apparently I didn‘t disagree with him. I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t thin enough, I was too emotional, and not nearly enough like Kendra. When he couldn’t accept my kids, I figured it was more him than me, maybe that’s why it didn’t kill me.

He’s an alcoholic. Just like so many other people in my life have been. I don’t really know how much of that to take personally. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m making the decision to take this book and actually do the work to find and fix what’s wrong.

There it is. Obviously, this isn’t everything about me, just the things that I really feel impacted the person I am today. I’m going to have to choose 10 moments out of 42 years as my defining moments. The moments that skewed my perception of who and what I am, what my value is to me and others. This was so hard for me to do. I hope it wasn’t as hard to read.

Please, God, let me find my purpose through this process. I need to find me so that I can be me, and fulfill my spiritual contract. I want to know what love is.

Defining Moments 21-38

The trauma of being raped lingered. I slept with a lot of men to regain control and power. Of course, it didn’t work, but at least I was trying. I was fighting back and moving on. I turned 21 and moved to Boise with a friend. We were going to make new lives for ourselves, and that’s what we did. We partied a lot, and worked a little. One day she came home from work, and found me laying on the couch with my bloody arm elevated. She freaked! She thought I had been attacked again. In a way, she was right.


I was riding my bike that morning, discovering all the secrets of Boise. I was in a bike lane in front of some little grocery store near Broadway Ave. There was a car at the parking lot exit with a little old lady behind the wheel. I slowed down, but she appeared to be looking right at me, so I continued. Once I got in front of her, she hit the gas and knocked me down. I was irritated immediately, and sure I would get road burn. Once I was on the ground, I thought I’d just get up, but it became clear rather quickly that she had no intention of stopping. In no time at all, I was under the car, my left arm was actually under the left front tire, and I was staring at the tire as it approached my head. I guess my guardian angel was there with me that day, because a woman working across the street saw what was happening and was running toward the car screaming and waving her arms. The car stopped, I yanked my arm out from under the tire, and I never moved more quickly than I did that day, crawling out from under the car. Once again, I survived. Why? Isn’t 3rd time a charm?

Ok, so that wasn’t even close the a defining moment. Just a story that I actually like to tell. My arm was all scraped up, but no broken bones, if you can believe it. My bike was totaled, they said they had to lift her car up to get it out, and I got a new one. And a couple of thousand dollars to boot. So, I survived again. But surviving isn’t special, it’s instinctive. It’s an instinct that nearly always trumps the desire to die. Surviving isn’t courageous, living is. But sometimes survival is all you have courage enough to do. And I was about to need more.

I had been in Boise for just a few months when I met Lex. We were a perfect match, messed up and partying hard. In June, I moved in with him. On the 4th of July, I got pregnant, and, though I didn’t know it then, that child would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I wasn’t married, and didn’t know whether my relationship with Lex would move in that direction. The only think I knew was that I was having and keeping this baby.

Pregnancy was not kind to me. I gained 100 pounds during my pregnancy, to the horror of my mother who had worked so hard to keep me anorexically thin my whole life. I still regret letting her back into my life at that time. She was a member of the audience I had during my very difficult labor. I was extremely emotional, and easily enraged.

One day I was moving from the couch to the bed. When I got there, I found that my 6 month old Doberman puppy and pooped on my bed. I lost it. I grabbed her and started to beat her while she lay on the floor beneath me. I had a sort of out of body experience at that moment. I was looking down on me beating that poor puppy, and I saw my mother. I was about to have a baby, and I was my mother. I stopped and got up off the dog who ran to another room. I felt sick to my stomach. I knew right then that I had to change. I couldn’t be my mother. I wouldn’t be my mother. I wouldn’t.

I don’t know if I ever made it up to the puppy. She grew up to be a really sweet dog. We couldn’t keep her, though. She need room to run, so I gave her away. I didn’t give my rage away, though. I have had to work hard not to lose control like that again. It can be so hard sometimes. I learned it was ok to just walk away and cool down. Today I don’t lose control like that. I still get angry, but I can control myself better. It’s ok to get mad, feelings aren’t bad, what we do with those feelings can be. It’s a process.

I knew Megan long before she came into the world. I knew she would have long blonde hair, lots of friends, love do dance, and brighten the lives of all who knew her. But I was caught completely off guard by the feelings I had for her when I first held her in my arms. She was so tiny and helpless and beautiful. I didn’t know a person could feel love like that. It is such a cliché, I know, but it is steeped I truth. I remember thinking I must have lost my mind, this was too much joy, surely I didn’t deserve this wonderful gift. I couldn’t be separated from her, I was terrified of losing her. Even though I felt that kind of love for her, I still would become angry with her when she cried, or tantrumed. Yes, I walked away. I never hit her or harmed her. Thank God!

Lex and I did get married before Megan was born, and by the time we moved back to Twin we were already having problems. When Zach was born, Lex was working as a cook at a truck stop for very low wages. His self esteem was very low.

I was very sick throughout my pregnancy with Zach, and when he was born, we both had to stay in the hospital. He had pneumonia, so he stayed for a week. I had a wicked kidney infection an stayed for three days. When I came home, Megan refused to speak to me for two full weeks. My mother pounced on that. She saw it as a way to worm her way between Megan and me. It didn’t work, of course, but I never doubted that my mother played a major roll in the problem - all she wanted was to take Megan away from me. When Zach came home, Megan did eventually fall in love with him.

My brother and his first wife had a baby who was six months old at that time. She had an extremely rare condition that took her life. That was such a traumatic time for me. I couldn’t understand why such a sweet baby would be taken away from my brother who never did anything as bad as the things I did regularly in my teens. I became terrified that I was destined to lose Megan as well. I always had nightmares about Megan dying. The loss of my niece certainly didn’t help matters any.

Not quite a year after that, Lex did get a good paying job. We moving into a bigger house, and though we were still renting, things started to go better for us as a couple. The pediatricians kept diagnosing Zach with ear infections and on two occasions they put him on a maintenance antibiotic that caused him to develop seriously high fevers. The last time it happened I took him off and low and behold, he got better. He was behind a little developmentally, and could repeat commercials exactly, and spent a lot of time running in circles.

I had a tubal ligation and lost a whole bunch of weight. I was looking pretty good by the end of the summer, and my mother introduced me to Sophia. Sophia and I became quite close. My mother ended up doing something to make Sophia mad, and she became my biggest ally in breaking from my mother.

My mother was seeing a really nice guy at that time, and had decided to move in with him. She told Lex and me that she would sell us her house - the same house I grew up in. I had no idea what kind of effect living in that house again would have on me. I had never actually had forgotten the things that had happened during my childhood, I just didn’t dwell on them much.

Megan was four by then, just about the same age I was when those horrible things were done to me. I had hung a picture of my sister and me taken at that time on the wall where I could see it while I rocked Megan. I would walk around a corner and have flashbacks, full pain, smell, everything flashbacks. The scene would play out completely leaving me feeling as worthless and powerless as I felt then. But this time I had Megan, and I would sit and rock her until the little girl in me felt better. I kept telling her (the little girl in me) over and over that she didn’t do anything to deserve that, she was totally innocent and sweet, and only a monster would treat a beautiful child like her that way. And I would cry for hours.

It really helped, and I started to see myself in a different light. I started to see my mother in a different light. I hated her so much then. How could she do those things to me, and still look me in the eye and tell me she loves me? How could she continue to treat me with such disregard and still insinuate herself into my life and the life of my little girl?

I wasn’t terribly savvy or smart enough to realize how little regard she actually had for me, though. One fall, I went on a one week hunting trip with Lex and left both Megan and Zach with her. Mom’s boyfriend was there, and I was gullible enough to believe that she knew better that to lay a hand on my children. When we got back, she told me Megan was mad at her because she yelled at Megan for peeing outside - at the ranch. I thought mom was being rather irrational about Megan’s behavior, but I did believe her when she said she just yelled.

That changed at a baby shower being thrown for my brother’s second son. Mother was discussing discipline with my brother’s mother-in-law when she decided to tell about the time she spanked Megan. Yes, she spanked Megan that day. I was furious. Something was starting to happen inside me at that moment. Maybe I couldn’t protect myself from that monster, but I would protect my kids from her.

Her boyfriend died unexpectedly a few days after that. I put everything aside to help her through it. She started talking about how she had made a mistake selling her house to Lex and me, and reminding me that there was no contract. She abused me emotionally over the next few months. It was getting worse and worse, and I was getting more and more fed up. I finally made a decision to put an end to it. I told Lex what I was going to do, that it was the only thing to do.

We went to see her at the ranch. I told her I couldn’t take anymore of her abuse, and that I certainly wasn‘t ok with her spanking Megan for any reason. I told her she could have her house back, but in return I wanted my life back - without her in it. I don’t think she really got it at that time. She was combative and belligerent, and as I walked out the door I told Megan to say good bye to her grandma, because it would be the last time she would see her. A look of shock passed over my mother’s face, and I walked away. As we drove home, I felt the most intense feeling of relief and freedom. I have never regretted making that decision, not even for a moment.

Funny thing happened, I quit having nightmares about Megan dying. I’ve only had one since, and that was when my dad told me he was going to take Megan to see her grandma. I talked him out of it. It wasn’t hard, I just told him he had to spend a few months being my mom’s friend before dragging Megan into that situation. I think he actually gave that a shot, too. I knew she would convince him to protect Megan from her, even if I couldn’t.

Lex convinced me to take some classes at CSI that fall. After doing so poorly in high school, I wasn’t convinced I would have any success, but I decided to give it a shot. I signed up for a full load, and declared psychology as my major. A couple of weeks into classes, my psychology teacher asked us how many of us were there for intrinsic reasons. I raised my hand. He looked around the class and said, “only two of my A students?” I was shocked. No one had ever accused me of being an A student before. I really liked that label. I liked it so much that I vowed to make it true. And I did. It’s strange how one comment made for an entirely different reason can make such a huge difference in a persons self concept!

Another thing that took me by surprise was the way everyone accepted me as valid and valued. I was also getting a lot of attention from some of the young boys who were attending the college. I had no idea why they were so accepting, but I loved it. It was so nice not to be hated by classmates. I was riding high! I was on the Principals list the first 3 semesters and on the deans list after that. I’ll never forget my first B. I could hear my mother saying, “see! You really are stupid after all!” And then I cried about a grade most people would be thrilled with.

Then, my grandmother died. She starved herself to death. She no longer wanted to live once my little niece died, and she finally figured out how to make it happen. But her mind died before her body did. I think her mind went to the time when I was very small. Though she remembered our names correctly, she treated Megan as if she were me, and she treated me as if I were my mother. It was a horrible time. I was relieved when she finally died. I hated myself for that. She and my grandpa saved me from my mother with their love and support. I was so conflicted by my feelings at that time. Now I just remember her the way she was before her break. I know she loved me. I know she only wanted the best for me and if she had been in control, she would have never treated me so badly in the end.

I never strayed on my marriage, no matter how tempting the boy, and I never did, even when my marriage really started to fall apart after just a couple of semesters of classes. Lex was making up to $20 and hour at that time. He started coming home from work later and later. He was trying to start his own business, but he had absolutely no business savvy, so he was failing miserably. That was ok with some of his “friends”, because he was always available to get high with.

I used to get so mad when he didn’t come home. Zach remembers a night when I got the kids out of bed to go for a ride. I was going to hunt him down and beat his tramp girlfriend’s face to a pulp. I found him at the car shop he was using. He was alone and passed out. I really don’t think he ever strayed with another woman. I don’t think it was in him. Besides, he got to the point where he was only taking a shower once a month or so. He was a welder, and boy did he stink up the place. Eventually I got to the point where I prayed he wouldn’t come home. I hoped he had a girlfriend who was taking care of his needs so I wouldn’t have to smell him. I remember laying awake at night wondering how I could make it through the rest of my life like that. I was so miserable, I really didn’t want to go on. But I would never leave my kids like that. They needed me, they depended on me.

Then it finally happened. He pushed me too far that night. I was asleep when he came home. I woke up to find him masturbating over me. He had pulled my nightclothes high enough to expose me. When I turned to see what he was doing, he fell to the bed limp, like he hadn’t done anything.

I got up and took a bath to clean him off of me. When I went back to bed I told him I wanted a divorce. He laid there like he was asleep. This was back in the Lorena Bobbet days when women were killing and maiming there husbands. He used to comment frequently on how horrible those women were. Why didn’t they just leave? So I told him that night, “you know, Lex, you are one of the assholes who gets himself killed because he won’t leave.” He said “I’ll be out in the morning.” While I was doing laundry that morning, he left. It was February 12, 2004.
Two days later he brought me a plant for Valentine’s day. It was the first Valentine’s day he actually remembered.

So I fumbled around looking for work. I got a job at an elementary school in the preschool program. Then when summer came, I got a job at an insurance agency. I didn’t really like working with little kids like that, but they were sure a lot more fun than dealing with bloodsuckers. When school started up again, I got a job in my school district working with profoundly disabled children at the junior high school.

Most of them seemed fun to me, but there was a boy there who was blind, didn’t talk, sat in his wheelchair all day and had seizures often. I was terrified of him. On day I stood in the classroom looking at this little boy, yes he was tiny, and when I thought, why are you scared of him? So, I asked the aid who worked with him if I could take over. She was more than happy to let me. During the next nine months, this boy would teach me the real meaning of unconditional love and acceptance. It was then that I really started to see God for what He is, and not for what everyone said he was. It was magical, and every time I sit down with a person who is profoundly disabled, I feel that kind of unconditional love. For the first time I actually had hope that I would be ok.

The next year I had to come to terms with what was happening to my son. In kindergarten he seemed to be learning things that were being taught in the class, but he never paid attentions. I think I would have been totally ok with mental retardation, but everyone kept trying to get me to consider autism. I was completely in denial. After all, autistic kids wear helmets and beat there head into walls, right? One night Rainman came on tv. I couldn’t even sit through the whole movie. Rainman wasn’t wearing a helmet or beating himself senseless, and he could talk. As a matter of fact, when he talked he sounded exactly like Zach.

I got in the car and drove for the longest time. The next day I started making appointments with specialists. That year Zach was officially diagnosed with autism by a pediatric neuropshychiatrist in Salt Lake City. Unfortunately, no one knew what to do with it. The Dr. told me that Zach would either live his adult life in an institution, or live a relatively independent, productive life on his own, depending on how I handled it. What a mean thing to say to a mother with no resources, and no access to any real help. He did qualify for SSI. I hated them for not making me prove he was disabled enough to need that kind of help. But it did give me the option of working while he was at school and spending the rest of the day with him.

Eventually we did get help. The school district hated the idea of having private agencies come in and do what the school district should have been doing. The are still like that. I walked that fine line between being the hated mother and beloved employee. I compromised too much, and the gave too little, and in the end, he suffered. Oh, he’s ok, but he could have gone so much farther if the school district had done their job. I even wondered why it was that they were willing to take so much from me at work, yet give so little back for my son. Where was the Karma then?

After working at the Junior High for 5 years, I went to the high school, where I made a new friend. I really thought a lot of Cynthia. I though she was honest and trustworthy. We confided everything in each other. She was really athletic, and I wanted to be more like that. But something always got in the way.

I even believed for a time that my mother had broken my spirit and I would never be happy. Then it finally occurred to me that I would be dead now if she had. I realized that, somehow, I would have to find a way to be happy. Maybe if I could find a boyfriend?

In 2001, I started taking Zach to Astronomy meetings. One of the men there started paying a lot of attention to me. He was the manager of the planetarium and he seem like he was a really nice guy. In the summer of 2002, we started seeing each other. I thought I was falling in love with him, but he was so distant. I didn’t know why, but he treated me like trash. I finally had “the talk” with him about where our relationship was going. He said it wasn’t going anywhere. He liked me, but I wasn’t going to be that someone in his life. Of course, he couldn’t tell me why, I was a really nice person and all. That was a couple of days before my 38th birthday! It certainly didn’t help my self concept, and I fell into a terrible depression. Life really sucks sometimes.

Defining Moments 13-20

How long can a moment last? I wasn’t yet 13 when I transitioned from elementary school to Jr. high school. The next two years would have seemed completely unremarkable to most. Even I don’t remember much about those years. But they were far from unremarkable.



I had spent so many years being ostracized and tormented by my peers that I had come to know it as an integral part of my life. As I walked through the halls of that jr. high school, however, I found a solace - a welcomed reprieve. I was no longer the most despised among the mass. I was completely invisible. I walked through the halls, unnoticed, untouched, unseen. It was a wonderful experience. I was at peace. I was happy. I even made a couple of friends.

I was 14 when my step-dad finally divorced my mother. He was re-married in three months. He had found a new family that was happy to see him when he walked in the door. They showered hugs and kisses on him daily. He told me this like he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t like that. As if he wasn’t there for the previous 13 years of my life, and didn’t know how I could have come to be so reserved and emotionally undemonstrative.

My mother decided to give me some social freedom. I started roller-skating and started a friendship that I truly valued. I also developed the worst crush on the guy at the roller rink. He was older, and so graceful on the floor. He had long black hair and a beautiful face. I’ll never forget the first time he asked me to skate with him! His name was Damian.

I immediately told my mother about this god-like creature and she had to come and see him for herself. It wasn’t long after that she decided to have him for herself. He wasn’t loaded with immense morality, and thought it would be cool to have sex with an older woman. So that’s what she was to him. I don’t really know what he was to her, but she told me what he was to me. He was 21, and off limits. I was 15 then, jailbait, and she forbade from seeing him. That being said, did I have any problems with her seeing him? She actually asked me that. What could I say? I wish I could have said, “fuck you slut bitch!” instead I said no, she could have him.

So, while my mother was off romping with my first big crush, I bestowed my virginity onto the boy next door. I don’t even remember his name, but I do remember the event. I liked that experience for so many reasons. I enjoyed it and enjoyed him a couple more times by the time Damian was finished with my mother. Then I enjoyed him. He wasn’t as enjoyable as the neighbor boy, but, he was older, and much better looking. It was an on and off relationship that continued for several years.

Damian wasn’t the only guy my mom wanted to take from me, he was just the first. I was sweet 16, jailbait, competing with a 32 year old easy lay - aka mom. Sexual promiscuity wasn’t they only wonderful gift she gave me. She also handed me my first beer. Then, she exposed me to the wonderful world of drugs - handed me my first bowl of pot.

And so I spun out of control. I had so many sexual partners I can’t even remember them all. Most of them were direct results of a drug-clouded and hopeless, murky mind. People say the boys were all just using me, and they probably were. I was using them, as well. They made me feel important and wanted, even if it was for just a few hours. To this day I still find it remarkable that I lived through it all.

Especially since I almost didn’t. When I was 17½ I was drunk, high, and crazy mad about being rejected by a guy I thought liked me. I went home with another guy that I didn’t know. I drank so much that I passed out in his bed, and didn’t wake up until 7:00 the next morning. I knew my mom was home from work by then and that she was going to kill me. She almost did, too. She met me at the door with a broom stick, and proceeded to beat me with it.

The next morning I went to work with cuts, lumps and bruises all over my face and body. They asked what had happened and I told them I had stayed out all night and got in trouble. They all just looked at me and said nothing more. I don’t really know what they were thinking, at the time, though, I assumed the worst. I deserved it. The whole morning was just a fog. The guy who supervised me just left me alone all day, and I sat and cried and tried to come to terms with the hopeless mess that was my life.

I was sitting on a curb when the answer came to me. I couldn’t continue to live like this, I couldn’t continue to steal the air that I breathed. I had no value, no worth, no purpose, so I would have no life. I made a plan to walk to the bridge and jump. I walked through it in my mind. I thought of the people in my life. Only my grandma and grandpa would really care, but they would get over it. My life was so insipid that surely my death would go mostly unnoticed. The thought of not even being missed broke my heart into little pieces.

I sat watching my tears hit the ground when it finally occurred to me that I was 17½ years old. In 6 months I would be 18 and would be free from my mother. I vowed that I would never let anyone hit me again. I vowed that I would prove that children could turn out good even without being hit. I chose not to die that day. I continued to survive.
You know something funny? It wasn’t until I was 19 years old that I realized what she did to me was abuse. I was doing laundry one Saturday evening, reading a magazine that someone had left. It was an article about child abuse. I thought I was going to read about broken bones and cigarette burns. What I learned, however, is that if you hit a child, and there is still a mark 20 minutes later, that is abuse. How many times did she hit me and not leave a mark? How many fat lips did she give me, how many welts on my butt? I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe it! My step dad was right, she was abusing me. I must have cried for a week!

My mother and I were not speaking at that time. We had a big blow-out in Boise one night that ended in a drunken brawl. So she wasn’t one of the persons I thought about the on morning I thought I was going to die. I thought about my brothers, and my grandma and grandpa. It was their love that I clung to as I was being raped.
I used to leave the tv (MTV channel) on all night when I lived alone. I remember waking up just to watch Eddie VanHalen play Jump! I used to know what was playing the morning of June 11 when I woke up out of a deep sleep, but that knowledge is gone now. It was still dark and I remember being confused and a little alarmed. I looked toward the tv in the living room. I saw a shadow dart out of the doorway, and then back into view. Before I knew what was going on, he was on top of me, pinning me down. I started screaming, so he put his hand over my mouth and threatened to kill me if I didn’t shut up. He said he had a knife, and I could smell alcohol on his breath.

I struggled with him for what felt like forever. He tried to choke me, but I remembered my little brother telling me that you could get out of a choke hold by bending back their little finger. It works! I got out of at least 4 choke holds by bending back his little finger. I kept trying to get out from under him, but I was in my water bed and was absolutely unable to gain any physical leverage against him. I remember biting his forearm as hard as I could, which of course made him more angry. He grabbed my pillow and tried to suffocate me with it. It was then that I gave up and told him I would stop fighting him. I laid limp while he pulled off my underwear and began to rape me.

When he was finished, he threatened to come back and kill me if I called the police, and took the phone on the way out. I laid on my bed for a while, terrified that he was still there. I don’t know how long, but I finally got up, closed the door and made sure it was locked. I went back to my bedroom, in shock, and decided I should get ready for work.

I picked up my brush and stood in front of my mirror. I didn’t recognize the girl in the reflection. It was at that moment that I broke down emotionally. I sobbed uncontrollably, while I tried to brush the rats out of my hair. I finally realized that I had to call the police. I went to the house in front of mine and got help from the neighbors. The policeman who drove me to the hospital kept looking at me and asking me if I was ok. I kept assuring him I was.

My first request was to call my mother to have her pick up the dogs so they would be safe. I told her I had been raped, and her reply was “who was it, Cheri?” she kept asking it over and over like I was lying about it or something. I visited a rape counselor who told me I shouldn’t feel guilty. I wasn’t feeling guilty, I knew I had done nothing wrong. I thought she was trying to tell me I had, so I didn’t go back.

They never found the guy who did it. I didn’t look at his face - if I had I’m sure I wouldn’t be here to describe him now. My mother tried to take care of me for a couple of months, but that didn’t last, of course. I haven’t lived alone since then, and I haven’t left the tv on all night since. There isn’t anything I could tell my 19 year old self that I didn’t already know then. I did survive.

What is really sad about that incident? It won’t even make the cut. I can only choose 10 defining moments, and that didn’t define me. But it definitely left a scar and affected some of the decisions I would make in the future.

And that’s the sum of events that took me to adulthood. I used to apologize all the time for some of it. I don't now. I was doing what I had to do to survive. Survive. I don't know why I have survived. There must be a reason, I must have a purpose. I hope to find that purpose before it's too late. The clock never stops ticking, and I never stop hurting.

Defining Moments 6-12

This is an extremely difficult process for me. I keep stopping to see if I will feel better so I can continue, but it doesn’t really help much, and I really don’t want this to drag on and on. I survived all of this when it happen, and I have survived the currents these events have caused since. I am trusting that this book contains help for actually healing, because if it is just about regurgitating this shit over again, it’s really going to piss me off.


First grade is mostly a blur. I do remember I got my first kiss then, but I don’t remember what the boy’s name was. I do remember that he was cute and really sweet.


Second grade was anything but a blur. It was Mrs. Moore that made sure of that. She was young and beautiful. She wore a red dress that hand the most beautiful princess puff sleeves that I had ever seen. She hated me. She is one of the most influential people in my life, and I will write a lot about her in a later exercise. But here I want to write about an incident that reinforced all of the other lessons of worthlessness I had suffered.

I was in class, in my desk, taking a test. It was hard, and I didn’t know all the answers. I felt very anxious about a grade I knew I would be in trouble for. I chewed my fingernails then, and that’s what I was doing when Mrs. Moore came down the isle. “Cheri! Take those fingers out of your mouth or I will cut them off!” she screamed. She sounded just like my mother. Someone who was not my mother was treating me with contempt and disgust.

So, my mother was not the only one who felt I had no value. Others felt that way as well. As the school year went on, more and more people treated me with that same contempt. I learned that year that there was really something horrible about me that made people hate me. I didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, everyone else could see it. Everyone else knew how worthless and valueless I really was. I was not likeable.

I wish could go back in time and tell that little girl they were all wrong - that Mrs. Moore hated my mother and was taking it out on me, and that the other children were simply seeking Mrs. Moore’s approval by treating me badly. It wouldn’t have helped though. I tell myself that now, and I know that now, but I don’t feel it deep inside. Deep inside I still feel worthless.

The third grade brought a new kind of experience to me. In at least one area, I did have some value.

It was lunch recess time and everyone was out playing after lunch. I had no friends, so I was wandering around the playground, daydreaming. It was then that a group of four boys two years older than me began to tease me. One of them had a crush on me (he was as hated as I was), and the other boys were going to make sure he got something from me.

They grabbed me and wrestled me to the ground. I was screaming, but no one came to my aid. They pinned me down and held me there. They told the boy to kiss me. He was reluctant at first, but complied with their demands. He kissed me on the lips. When he was done, the other boys started laughing and making jokes at me that I didn’t understand. When they had gone, I looked for help, but received none. Apparently, no one saw it happen - and no one really cared.

I can’t begin to say how lonely and confused I felt at that time. I was completely powerless and helpless. I was at the mercy of anyone who wanted a piece of me. But at least someone WANTED a piece of me.

Later that year, my mother and step father went out one night, and my grandfather (my mother’s father) stayed to baby-sit us. It all started out innocently enough, Kim and I were just sitting on his lap being the little girls we were. Then he decided he wanted kisses. So we gave grandpa kisses. Then he decided to teach us how grown-ups kiss.

We did that for a while and Kim managed to get up and leave. I wanted to know how grown-ups kissed. It progressed from there. He started touching me in places grown-up women get touched. I thought it felt good, and he seemed to think I was wonderful for playing the game with him. It only stopped because he couldn’t figure out how to unbuckle by belt. He wanted me to unbuckle it, but I knew that this game was wrong, so I got up and went into my room.

I was scared to death that he would tell my mother that I had played that game with him. I knew she would have blamed me for being a skanky little slut like the 13 year old pregnant daughter of grandpa’s current wife. Like the 13 year old pregnant daughter of my uncle’s wife. I liked being touched, and I came so close to letting him take it as far as it could go.

It was something I liked doing, that someone else thought was valuable. The thought of that toothless, drunk, disgusting old man makes my stomach churn. But the idea of someone wanting me bad enough to get in trouble for it physically arouses me even today. It doesn’t make sense to me, but there it is. (P.S. My uncle was the father of his 13 year old step-daughter’s baby, and though my grandpa’s step daughter had a boyfriend, it is unlikely that her baby was actually fathered by her young boyfriend.)

When I was in the fourth grade, I tried to get my teacher to call me by my nickname, Cheri. She refused to pronounce it right, though. She insisted that the French pronounced it Shurieee and pronounced that way until I told her to call me Cheryl. She didn’t seem to have any problems pronouncing that with an American accent - guess she couldn’t figure out how the French would have said it.

Sixth Grade was unforgettable.

I had been attending the same dance school since I was 5. They liked me there, but they didn’t really know me. They just thought I was cool because I was so flexible. None of the kids I went to dance school with attended my elementary school, until sixth grade. Boundaries were re-drawn and an already difficult situation became nearly unbearable.

I was standing in the lunch line the first day of school. There was this really pretty, tall girl standing in front of me. She had the most beautiful, shiny, copper colored hair I had ever seen. The sun was shining on it and I was mesmerized. Suddenly, she turned to me and told me to stop staring at her, that I was sick for staring at her and she didn’t want my stare cooties. The stage was set.

Ruthanne McNeese was one of the children forced to attend my school after the boundaries were re-drawn. She was a friend of Shari M. who I attended dance school with. Shari liked me. I didn’t know why, but I was terrified she would soon find out why she should hate me. Ruthanne was not shy about telling her.

Shari and Ruthanne had a falling out, as young friends often do. I was walking the playground with Shari when Ruthanne came up to us and told Shari “You must be really desperate for friends if you have to hang out with HER!” Of course, she was looking at me with every ounce of contempt she could muster. I was so crushed. I fully expected Shari to stop liking me right at that moment.

She didn’t though. She never did stop liking me. It didn’t matter, though, Ruthanne had won. While I was relieved that Shari didn’t dump me, I knew that Ruthanne was right. Shari was desperate for friends to hang with me. If Shari and Ruthanne hadn’t been fighting that week, I would have been roaming the playground alone, daydreaming.

Even now, when I see Shari, she still chats with me like I’m her long lost friend. I never understood why she liked me then, I still don’t know why now. Maybe some day I’ll ask her why. Would that be weird? Is it possible that she liked me for the same reasons everyone else hated me? Is it possible that their feelings toward me had very little to do with me or who I was, but everything to do with them and who they were? If that is all it ever is, wouldn’t that make life and everything we do in it shallow and empty?

If I could talk to that young girl in me I would tell her it wasn‘t about her. That Ruthanne was being cruel - that she was wrong. She was angry about having to switch schools, she was mean to a lot of people. She couldn’t possible really hate me that bad, she didn‘t even know me. She hated me before she ever walked into that school, not because I had no value, but because I went to that school. And I would thank Shari for not walking away, for never abandoning me, for always liking me - regardless of the reason. I aspire to like me that way, some day.


Early in February we started making bi-centennial valentine boxes. I was on a basketball team with kids who didn’t know me. I think my mom was really trying to help me make my life better. We went to a Carol King concert in Sun Valley. She was starting to see me a little differently, probably because I was becoming a young woman.

On a very sunny and warm day, I walked home from school, as usual. And as usual, I suffered the anxiety of not know what I would be facing once I got home. Had I failed to wash the dishes right the night before? Were the dog kennels not cleaned well enough? Was my room picked up well enough to pass inspection? Would I face the wrath of my mother? Or would it be a good day?

When I got home I was so pleasantly surprised! She was in the best of moods, such a good mood that she even took me to Dairy Queen for a Peanut Buster Parfait! Yes, not just a cone, but a Parfait! We talked and laughed and had the best time. I was so happy and grateful. We came home, and she left. I was cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang.

It was my mother, and she was clearly very upset. She told me that my step-dad was on his way home. He was going to take us somewhere and I was to go with him without fighting him. Of course, she knew I wouldn’t have fought him, that was not in my list of accepted behaviors. By the time she hung up I was quite upset, and crying. When he came, he knew that she had called me and wanted to know what she told me. I told him, got in the car and away we went.

I cried all the way to Arco. By the time we got there he was quite annoyed with me. I’m sure he didn’t know about, or appreciate the events that had been my day. We got to Arco, and we stayed there for a couple of months, saw a psychologist, and went back home.

He stayed in his miserable marriage for another two years. By then, Kim was old enough to legally choose to live with him.

At that time I was absolutely clueless as to why he was “kidnapping” us. I didn’t understand why we had to be taken away from our home and our lives. I felt so powerless, just a pawn. I honestly thought at the time that he just wanted to live in Arco with his family. He kept saying he was doing it because my mom was abusing us, but I didn’t believe she was abusing us. You see, I honestly thought it was me, there was something wrong with me. How can you be ok in life if you believe that your parent is incapable of keeping you safe? How can you trust anything if you can’t trust your mother? How can anything in life be ok if she isn’t? Why did he wait so long to tell us it was her and not us?

I know now he was trying to protect us. He was saving Kim’s life. It was harder for him than it was for us. He must have been so frustrated to have the children he was trying to protect fight him as hard as the woman he was trying to protect us from. But, he went about it all wrong. If I could go back and talk to him, I would tell him to start earlier. To tell us from the beginning that we were valuable, and that we didn’t deserve to be hit by anyone. I would tell him not to spring it on us like that. Give us a heads up, let us know, way in advance, what you are planning. I would tell him that what he was about to do would hurt us as much as anything she had done to us, because we had no power to control any of it. Our opinions didn’t matter. Our feelings weren’t considered. Her message was reinforced.

I would tell the young me to listen, that this was a crazy attempt to save her. I just wanted to matter. I would tell her she does. I wish I could believe that now.

Obviously not all of these events will make it in the final cut. They all seem to be echoes of the same lesson. How does one come to unlearn something that has been taught so well?

Defining Moments Ages 1-5

I have already written about most of these things on this blog, and some of it is word for word. I rewrote some of it, so now I feel drained. It is hard to relive these things enough to write about them. I don't imagine this process is going to get any easier, but I do think that two of these experiences were absolutely two of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Here it is.
Someone was up. I can still see the shaft of amber light that radiated beneath the door. I was small, still just a baby, alone in my crib, and surrounded by an infinite darkness that was pierced only by that shaft of amber. I was ready to get up and go. I decided I could just climb right out of the crib, which is exactly what I tried to do. I had practiced this climb and was sure I could make it. I held on with everything I had and pulled myself up. Over the rim I flung my foot, and secured it on the other side. Ok, now what?I was farther than I had ever been, and now, I was stuck! I had gone too far to get back into the crib, yet, if I let go now, I would fall into that abysmal darkness, to be lost forever. I was trying so hard to be quiet, it was not good to disturb mommy. I must have been crying because the door opened and there she was.Her form silhouetted against the glow of the light behind her. Suddenly the abyss wasn’t so frightening, not compared to the wrath I knew she would bring against me. But something unexpected happened. Instead of yelling, she said “are you ready to get out of bed? Did you get stuck? Here, let me help you.”The incident shouldn’t have mattered. The trauma of being swallowed into the nothingness surely wasn’t so traumatic. Getting yelled at was not unusual. People aren’t supposed to have memories that date back before age three, and I couldn’t have been three yet. I have a distinct knowledge in that memory of being in a room at the top of the stairs. The only house I lived in like that was one I lived in before three years of age. Unless my mom lied about the age at which I was potty trained.I also remember my mom telling me about my sister crying a lot, and thinking it was so cute that I stood at the bottom of the stairs yelling “Ki!, oh chi!” every time she started to cry. I am 16 months older than my sister, so I must have been close to that age.I know I was being potty trained when we lived at the house on Highland. I remember it because my grandma Irene had come to visit and was leaving. We were walking her out to her car. Something caught my eye.There was this most beautiful woman riding her bike with such grace and elegance down the street. I watched her bare feet as they somersaulted, heal over toe over heal. I was completely mesmerized. Her long brown hair was twisted into elegant braids. She passed me without even a glance. It was magic. Of course, my adult memory recognizes that she was probably all of nine or ten, and that she was just a little girl riding her bike up and down the street on a hot summer evening. That would have put me at about 20 months!As I was watching her ride away down the street, I was suddenly shocked back into “reality” with a swift swat on the butt, and an angry mother yelling that she had told me not to go into the street! I remember my grandmothers face. She was shocked, surely more by my mothers violence than by my act, but I saw it as concurrence at that time. I was sent into the house, crying.My step dad met me in the kitchen. “Why are you crying?” he asked. I tried to tell him about the beautiful woman on the bike, failing miserably to be understood. “Are you saying you have to go ‘try’?” Try was the word for having a bm in the potty chair. The next thing I knew, that was where I was, in the bathroom, on the potty chair, step dad saying “Try, Cheri, Try!”So according to these memories, I had to have been living on Highland just before I turned two. I remember that before we moved, my aunt Mila was visiting, trying to shame me into not wetting the bed. My sister was already successfully potty trained then. So that memory had to be closer to four.I know we moved out of that house when I was four. That was when my great-grandpa Al sold my mom and step dad a house for a more than reasonable price.Why is any of that important? Why would my mind hold onto such memories? The one thing they both have in common was the intense fear I felt for my mother. I think that is sad. I wish I didn’t have to be afraid of my mother. I wish that I had a mother that I could love and confide in. Someone who would tell me I’m loved and valued. No matter what, no matter. I can’t make this feeling disappear. A large part of me really doesn’t want to. How can I miss so much a thing I’ve never had?In the first memory, I remember feeling a great relief wash over me when my mother chose to help me. I suppose that she had already taught me that my needs never had nor would they ever be as important as hers, and that I would never really know what her needs would be from one minute to the next. It was a lesson I would learn well in my life.In the second memory, I was not understood. It was only the behavior they saw, not me. I wonder if this is where my feeling that no one in the whole world really cares WHO I am. The only things that matter to others is how well I fit into their expectations of who I should be and how I should act. Work hard, Cheri, to hide that beach ball below the water’s surface, for no one wants to see it. It is not important in this world, and the world should not be subjected to it.I think it was also the first lesson in knowing that no one would ever step in on my part.The next memories I have are in the house my Grandpa Al built for us.The grown-ups were painting the living room orange. There were other kids there about my age, and we were all running in and out of the house, laughing and having fun. We were told not to touch the wet paint, but we were little kids having fun, and I probably was the first one to get orange paint on my hands. I knew immediately to wipe it off, I knew I would be spanked with the dowel of the toy broom if my mom saw it. The other kids saw me wiping it off, they knew I had touched the paint. So when my mom came out and started screaming at us, they expected me to confess to my crime. I would not. Letting them take the blame was far preferable to facing my mothers wrath. I remember being so surprised and relieved that she didn’t know I had touched the paint.I look back at that experience and realize that I participated in my isolation. Even at age four I knew that in order to have any peace in my life, I would have to play by my mother’s rules. My life was to be about not setting my mother off. It was to be about being invisible. The less my existence impacted my mother, the more peace there would be in the house.When I was five, my mother stepped up the abuse.It was April of 1969 and my long hair was the only thing that was special about me. I had developed a rather nasty bladder control problem by then - not just wetting the bed, but having big accidents - even in public. My mother was sitting on the toilet and I stood in front of her while she combed it. She pulled a tangle, and it hurt, so I cringed and said ow, which made her angry. She told me if it hurt so bad she would just cut it all off. She then proceeded to get the scissors and start cutting. I was sure I that without my hair, my one and only object of value, I would be swallowed up into worthlessness, just like Kim (yes, Kim‘s life was worse than mine).I was just five, and that nasty wetting problem kicked in. I peed my pants right there in front of the toilet. That was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my part. She immediately went into a full rage. She grabbed the hair at the back of my head, threw me to the ground and rubbed my nose in my urine. My urine hadn’t even become cold yet. I tried to push away from it, but I was no match for her. I watched the pink and white fibers of the rug go up and down, my nose aching with every stroke. Suddenly they weren’t pink and white anymore. My nose was bleeding into the bathroom rug. When she saw the blood and calmed down, she was very sorry and showed me how she had only trimmed my hair and put the clippings in an envelope to put in my baby book, where they remain today.I thought that I had dealt with this. But when I allowed myself to actually “be there” again so I could write it, I broke down again. How could anyone do something like that to an innocent five year old little girl. I learned right at that moment that there was nothing she would not do to me. Even things I couldn’t control about me were subject to her wrath. I still had my hair, but I was fading fast.I was sitting at the little kids table in the middle of the kitchen eating my cheerios. I had eaten most of the bowl, but really wasn’t hungry, so I dumped them into the garbage. As I was dumping them out my mother came into the kitchen. When she saw that I was dumping out my cereal, she few into a rage. How could I waste food like that? She grabbed the bowl out of my hands and instructed me to eat the cereal out of the garbage.We had little dogs at that time, who were trained to pee and poop on newspapers. She had picked up those newspapers that morning just before breakfast, and that was what my cereal was sitting on. I knew I had no choice. I took one spoonful to my mouth. The odor was revolting. The cereal was mushy an unrecognizable in my mouth. I tried to swallow it, but began to throw up instead. She decided at that point that I must not feel good, so she didn’t make me continue. I didn’t go to kindergarten that day, I stayed in bed.What does a little girl learn from being treated like that? Not even the dogs were forced to eat off of their potty newspapers. I was terrified of her. She was the mother of two young children who treated them the way a horrible, spoiled rotten brat treats her dolls. I had no value as a human that morning. It was gone. I was living a nightmare with no hope of ever waking.

self matters 1st Day

Today I start in earnest. I have had this book laying around for year, and have know for all of those years that reading it and completing the assignments would be imperative if I ever wanted to find my authentic self and live my authentic life. It is Dr. Phil’s Self Matters, and I believe it will really help me.I am posting some of the things in the book that really got my attention. My hope is that I can come back to them from time to time when I feel unsure about where I am going.



Page 18-19 “Hey, wait a minute here. Screw the expectancies; screw living for everyone else. They (whoever ‘they’ are) don’t pay my rent, they don’t come home with me at night and bathe my kids and cook my dinner! Why, then, am I living for what I think some ill-defined bunch of people expect of me? They don’t get a vote anymore. I will no longer give my power away. I want it back, and I’m going to use it to be me.I want to be happy by being true to my self doing what I care about. If I love music, I want to have music in my life. If I want a career, then I want to find a way to have it. If I’m tired of being fat, I want to prioritize that change into my lifestyle. If I’m not being treated with dignity and respect, that’s not okay, not now, not ever. I would rather be alone that sick with someone else. If I miss God being in my life because my husband is not spiritual, then he will need to adjust, not me. I’m tired of being scared all the time. Scared about kids, money, job, boss, parents, and acceptance. I want some upside here. I want to feel alive. I want to feel valued by others and myself. I want to get up in the morning, instead of dreading it. I want to have tremendous clarity about why I am in this world and what I am supposed to do while I am here. I want to realize this is not a dress rehearsal; it is my life, my one shot. I want my kids to know and have all of me instead of some half-assed counterfeit. I want them to really see all of the real me, my interest, my sense of humor, my values. I believe that children learn what they live, and I want to teach them by example to be proud, instead of showing them how to compromise. I want to live with peace, fulfillment, joy, and excitement.
I want to be able to finish a day and say that the day ‘ felt really good.’ I want to be able to say that I am proud of me and proud of what I did today. I want to be able to say, ‘I like who I am and what I’m all about.’ I want to feel calm and peaceful. I want to feel satisfied. I want to be able to say, 'I feel good.’ I want to feel like I belong and I deserve what I want just because--just because! I want to like me for being there for me and putting what’s important to me on my priority list.”Page 31 Not living faithfully to your authentic self creates a void, an ever present feeling that you are incomplete….There’s a restlessness, a yearning emptiness that won’t go away. It’s as if there is a hole in your soul. You try to fill that hole in any number of ways; by smoking or drinking, by incessant working by over investing yourself in a mate or children……You cast about to find something, anything to fill that hole in your heart.
Page 39 But suppose someone confronts you about some aspect of yourself that is not so objective and easily measured, such as your value, your worth, your desirability, or your sensitivity. Those things are not nearly so cut and dried. I can’t show you a quart of your worth, or a pound of your value. Whether it is you or someone else who is “opining” that of you, for example, are worthless, you have to know the facts or you’re dead meat. If you don’t have the absolute bottom-bottom-line scoop on the real deal, you’ll go for the con job like Jesse went for the train.Today I completed a couple of assessments that I am going to post here. You may think this is quite personal, but I can’t think of a better place to chart my progress than this blog. I realize that in the past few months I may not have been as brutally honest as I should have been. It wasn’t because I didn’t want someone reading this and finding me out, it was because I was afraid to write it, because then it would be real. It’s time to get real.The pictures are of the authenticity scale. I scored 103, which is explained on page 50.


71-110 This range suggests that you are operating, most of the time, from a fictional self-concept that has become distorted and is therefore a fictional version of who you really are. It would not be surprising if you were usually confused about what you should be doing, at any time, or what would be the best use of your time. You may be bewildered about what the world expects of you, and you may feel really disconnected from your life. In many ways, a score in this range is the most problematic: The person who scores here may be aware of his or her fictional self and may understand that life doesn’t not have to be this way, but he or she may also fear the responsibility of change.
I feel that this is a very accurate description of how I feel, and why I feel this way. I look forward to fixing it.The following is a congruency test.Circle all the words that you think describe the ideal person you want to be, the person you believe is the full potential of who you are and will ever be.Pretty attractive beautiful nice-looking appealing cool sweet spiritual wise nice friendly faithful leader strong supportive moral ethical principled good honest decent warm loving tender warmhearted demonstrable caring kind affectionate hospitable welcoming amiable cheerful passionate fiery enthusiastic zealous arrogant egocentric altruistic sympathetic humane selfless philanthropic smart dependent free gentle thoughtful domineering submissive autonomous creative compassionate self-sufficient private liberated conventional objective elegant clever stylish intelligent quick charming tidy neat thoughtful attentive careful watchful alert reliable inspired inventive resourceful ingenious productive exciting energetic lively vigorous bouncy active joyful blissful pleased ecstatic cheery sane rational sensible reasonable normal complete capable genuine inspiring proud approachable peaceful honest giving nurturing accomplished whole perfect undivided achiever great confident compassionate content humble unassuming happy satisfied comfortable at ease relaxed able knowledgeable skilled proficient expert adept rich wealthy affluent prosperous full gorgeous valuable abundant fruitful powerful deep productive prolific understanding dynamic useful helpful constructive beneficial positive functional worthwhileTotal Circled words (Total Potential Score)=___128______________Circle the words below that describe how you actually are at the present.Pretty attractive beautiful nice-looking appealing cool sweet spiritual wise nice friendly faithful leader strong supportive moral ethical principled good honest decent warm loving tender warmhearted demonstrable caring kind affectionate hospitable welcoming amiable cheerful passionate fiery enthusiastic zealous arrogant egocentric altruistic sympathetic humane selfless philanthropic smart dependent free gentle thoughtful domineering submissive autonomous creative compassionate self-sufficient private liberated conventional objective elegant clever stylish intelligent quick charming tidy neat thoughtful attentive careful watchful alert reliable inspired inventive resourceful ingenious productive exciting energetic lively vigorous bouncy active joyful blissful pleased ecstatic cheery sane rational sensible reasonable normal complete capable genuine inspiring proud approachable peaceful honest giving nurturing accomplished whole perfect undivided achiever great confident compassionate content humble unassuming happy satisfied comfortable at ease relaxed able knowledgeable skilled proficient expert adept rich wealthy affluent prosperous full gorgeous valuable abundant fruitful powerful deep productive prolific understanding dynamic useful helpful constructive beneficial positive functional worthwhileTotal words circled (actual Self Score)= _____91________91/128=71%. This is in the positive range, with some good aspects of who I really am. However, I am not in touch with my true authentic self and am denying myself some very powerful strengths. I don’t feel worthy of my goals, have some self doubt and lack self confidence in truly appreciating my potential.So, there it is. That’s what I need to work on. The next tasks will be in breaking down the self concepts I have that are in error.On another note, I have a date Friday with a guy that says he signed up on match.com just to meet me. We have talked at length on the phone and this seems really good so far. Time will tell. I know one thing for sure, I will not be making excuses for the red flags. Instead, I will pay attention to them and make decisions based on what is truly best for me and not what some silly dream in my head wants. Yes, I intend to do this with authenticity. I do deserve to be treated with dignity and respect - I need to believe that in my core.